


Dear Anonymous

by Ripplestitchskein



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3892606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripplestitchskein/pseuds/Ripplestitchskein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one shot for the prompt ‘I think half of my anons are from the same person and I’m trying to track you down’ AU. </p>
<p>When Emma begins receiving a few anonymous messages for her tiny personal blog she is at first a bit excited for the increased recognition and the chance to actually communicate with new people in a safe medium, but when she realizes they are all from the same person she is more than a bit intrigued. After month's of innocent, if not slightly flirtatious, messaging back and forth via inbox and blog post, Emma finds herself wanting to track down this anonymous admirer using her very special set of skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Anonymous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msgenevieve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/gifts).



> A gift for msgenevieve who posted the original list of prompts. I hope this will provide a bit of a distraction for you.

 

After giving more than a cursory glance at the notebook on her bedside table Emma Swan was forced to admit that she had a problem. A fairly substantial one if page after page of hastily scribbled notes, half formed thoughts, and absent minded doodles was anything to go by. It had been weeks since she had really paid the notebook any sort of serious attention other than simply turning another page and continuing to add to madness.

It had started innocently enough, just a few extra Anonymous messages in her inbox.  Most were humorous, others cutting a bit too close to home, and a few were more than a little annoying. It had even been a bit exciting at first.

Her tiny corner of the internet was incredibly small, just a few hundred followers on her best day, and she very rarely had any sort of interaction other than the occasional reblog or a couple of extra likes thrown her way. She would be the first to admit that she really didn’t get this whole Tumblr thing, but it was a fun way to spend her evening in what would otherwise be an endless loop of Netflix marathons and Chinese food, and it gave her the feeling of being a bit more social if nothing else. It, at the very least, enhanced the Netflix marathon experience tremendously.

So when a few messages started flowing her way Emma was more than a bit excited. She certainly wasn’t after fame or fortune with this blogging thing but it was nice to have someone actually responding to her for once instead of just feeling like she was sending posts out into the aether, never to be seen again. It was a bit like getting called out in class for having a particularly well thought out essay, or the highest grade on an exam, and she really enjoyed that feeling. Someone had noticed her outside of the usual _“bad ass bounty hunter chick with the gun and the cuffs”_ sort of attention she usually received during her working day. Someone was actually interacting with her, someone that was not a part of her, mostly inherited from her older brother, circle of friends. It was really nice, at first.

And then it was absolutely maddening.

It had taken a few days before Emma realized it was actually the _same_ person behind every message. A pattern emerging in tone and phrasing that was unmistakably one individual after a few more messages had come in.  That had been a bit disheartening at first, but she wasn’t about to take any communication for granted, and obviously this individual felt they had connected with her in some way.  

They were, generally speaking, fairly innocent posts, and overtime the poster had even begun incorporating an air of simple, understated, affection that inexplicably tugged at her belly button and caused something to clench in her chest when she read them, posts like:

“ **Hope you are having a wonderful day, love. I can see why you enjoyed that post regarding the Aniko Kolensnikova book covers. Absolutely stunning, you have excellent taste, if only I were the type of man to keep a journal. I particularly enjoy the one with the silver skull and roses. Did you have an especial favorite? ”**

And some of them were a bit more flirtatious but they still didn’t cross the thin line between flirty and all out internet creep.

**“You do seem to reblog a ridiculous number of gifsets for that particular bloke. You just might make a fellow jealous Swan. Lucky for you I can assure you I am much more attractive, one might even say dashing, and my pride shall, obviously, not suffer any. ”**

And a few, not many, but a few, were downright salacious. Emma didn’t ever actually post true “selfies” persay, preferring to keep herself unrecognizable given her profession and enjoying a little anonymity of her own, but she would occasionally post a few “selfie tidbits”. A photograph of a particularly nice shirt she had purchased from the neck down only, a picture of an ear sporting a new pair of earrings, a proud photo of her eye to celebrate the rare occasion of her having perfectly winged eyeliner, or a photograph of her mouth, donning a very beautiful shade of brand new red lipstick. That had turned out to be a particular favorite.

**“Gods above Swan. I am trying to be a gentleman here, but I must say I am having a few (numerous) extremely ungentlemanly thoughts at the present regarding a certain set of soft, supple, red lips.”**

She found herself enjoying their correspondence immensely, answering his questions, sometimes lightly flirting back, other times shutting him down with calculated efficiency when he skirted too close to a particular line or got too personal.  

Emma reasoned it was a good way for her other followers to get to know **TheOGSwanPrincess,** through her responses to his questions and at the same time a way for her to get to know him, something she was frankly surprised she even wanted to do.  Normally Emma would shy away from this type of thing as it faintly resembled actual online dating, an activity she would personally, never in a million years enjoy, but his anonymity and her public responses kept their “relationship”, for lack of a better term, in a place that seemed safe for her.

Emma had even made a few indications that she’d like him to come off anon and formally introduce himself. Granted, her requests were more of the flirty, not entirely serious variety and thrown out only in passing. It was entirely possible he hadn’t realized she actually really wanted him to do so, but it was still a bit irritating.

She had even briefly toyed with the idea of turning off anonymous messaging to force the hand of her secret admirer, but the thought that he would stop messaging her altogether deterred her. And she honestly just really kind of enjoyed the mystery of it all.

There was an enforced distance that appealed to her. He answered her questions and she answered his, and via this slightly odd messaging medium Emma felt that she at least had a general idea of his character, or rather, the character he wanted her to have an idea of. And she really liked what she saw so far. He made her smile, he seemed to appreciate her ideas, and he had made several good book and movie recommendations. All together it was just fun, slightly crazed and maybe a bit desperate, but fun.

 

Unfortunately though, Emma was also a naturally curious person, a person who solved mysteries and located people _for a living_ and it was driving her absolutely mad not knowing exactly who took up so much of her non-working hours.

Which is how she found herself several months later with a notebook full of leads and a few “likely suspects” narrowed down, a notebook that she hadn’t realized she had let get quite so out of hand, a notebook that read more like the diary of a serial killer than a person trying to locate a “romantic comedy-esque” mystery admirer.

_Judging by word choice and phrasing is poss English? Perhaps Irish. Scottish? Welsh? Dunno._

_Referenced Islington msg March 23, London (per Google)? Possibly Toronto, Canadian? (Probably not per phrasing)._

_User JokersHearts mentioned Crouch End in tag, per map is near Islington. Added to potential suspects._

_Long conversation re: Correspondence Dinner, suggests lives in US, but perhaps just very in tune with American politics? Def possible._

_Nautical/sea related references made (abundant) see pgs 2, 5, 6, 7, 11, 15 etc. Mariner? Pirate enthusiast? Crab fisherman?   List of followers making nautical themed posts pg 25._

_Average number of reblogs by Follower (see Excel Spreadsheet AvgCountFollower)_

_Feel like possibly a dog owner/lover of dog, note to mark down posts related to canines._

On and on it went, a few theories as to who exactly it could be coming out of the wealth of information and jotted in the margins, but mostly she was finding just dead ends. She had it narrowed down to a few likely followers based on the tone of their posts, specific phrasing they used in tags, or even references to things Mystery Anon had said in previous messages, but she still had nothing concrete.

She had even lately been trying force him to reveal things that might make it easier on her to figure it out. For one suspect she went back weeks into his posting history until she found a post she could use.

**_“Reading this book Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norrell , have you ever read it Mystery Anon? Getting the feeling you would probably like it a lot, lots of flowery, over descriptive language, right up your alley.”_ **

**_“_ What exactly are you insinuating darling? I see nothing wrong with making use of an extensive vocabulary, and as this is the only tool at my disposal with which to properly woo you I’m afraid you’ll need to become accustomed to my “flowery and overly descriptive language”. Alas, I have not read that particular novel but I shall add it to my ever growing list, given it comes so highly recommended ;)”**

On another blog she had gone back through almost 5 months of posting history to find a tidbit she could use as bait and had spent what felt like hours scrolling through posts and clicking Read Mores, but he was either on to her game and was very cleverly avoiding her, or none of these followers she was trying were him.

It was ridiculously frustrating not being able to figure him out.

Not that Emma would even know what to do with the information beyond feeling vaguely satisfied that she had solved the mystery. It wasn’t like he had any interest in changing their dynamic; if he had he would have come off Anon at her previous requests and saved her a lot of hassle. Even if her requests to do so had been halfhearted and mostly joking at best, he wouldn’t have hesitated if he had even a sliver of interest in a deeper level of communication. Right?

 

Sighing Emma flipped through the notebook, trying to see if something, anything caught her eye. It was also a matter of personal pride, Emma had never failed to get her man/woman/person and she wouldn’t this time either. She would figure this out.

_Has vacationed (sailed maybe? See nautical references) in tropical locations several times. Prefers Caribbean to all others._

_Lives in colder climate, references winter hats, indicated specific pref for gray beanie, no references on followers blogs to hats/cold recently._

That one gave her pause. Emma didn’t remember any of her “selfie tidbits” including her well-loved gray beanie, it was older and not very significant, nor did she remember mentioning it in any of her posts.  

Emma grabbed her laptop, pulling up her own blog and skimming down through the posts. Admittedly, they were fairly light on actual content as of late, mostly just responses to her Mystery Anon, maybe something interesting and arty she reblogged in passing, and  a recent picture of her really nice self-manicure,but nowhere had she mentioned that hat.

Emma continued scrolling. Maybe she had off-handedly mentioned it and didn’t remember, during a discussion of the weather or something, or talked about it in a tag on a post related to snow. Page after page of posts, responses, and tags and Emma had yet to find one reference to that hat. And the phrasing was off too, how could one have a preference for something without knowing exactly what it looked like?

“Indicated preference for gray beanie,” Emma murmured aloud to the empty room, her heart pounding in her chest.

If she had never mentioned this hat on her blog that meant Mystery Anon had _seen_ her wearing it.  Possibly multiple times, and compared it to other hats she had worn in order for him to have a formed a “preference”.

 

Emma swallowed unsure of what to do with this possibility. It was one thing for her to try to identify Mystery Anon on her own terms, maybe engage in a bit of light cyber-stalking, but for him to already know who she was?

All told the idea that Mystery Anon could possibly know her but had yet to say anything either online or in person was a slightly creepier notion then a cute online flirtation. What if he was a crazy stalker? A serial killer? A weird beanie fetishist?

Emma felt her heart clench. She desperately did not want him to be _any_ of those things, especially not the beanie fetishist. She had _liked_ him. She had looked forward to his messages, actively seeking out the food he praised , reading the books he recommended, watching the movies he watched. He had been a friend, someone to talk to when she was home alone with just her Netflix subscription and her pajamas. Now he was possibly a weird cyber stalker with a penchant for gray knitted headwear.

A possibly creepy cyber stalker with a penchant for gray knitted headwear that lived in the same area Emma realized with a jolt.

Emma reached out to grab her wireless mouse and her notebook, her sense of purpose renewed, Mystery Anon might not know it but he had made a very serious mistake.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

“So are you coming out tonight?” Ruby asked over the phone, the murmur of voices and clanging dishes telling Emma she was still at work, probably on break.

“Ah..no, I have a case I’m working on, “ Emma said evasively, pressing the phone between her shoulder and ear to enter something into the search box on her screen.

“No you don’t,” Ruby said bluntly. “I already checked with Robin, and he assured me your caseload was free and clear. No skips this week.” Emma silently cursed her well-meaning boss for giving out the information, and her overly pushy best friend for requesting it.

“It’s a private case,” Emma said finally, clicking on a link.

“Emma.” She could practically feel Ruby’s stare through the phone. “What private case is it then?”

“Its _private_ . The subject wishes to remain anonymous.”

“And is this subject named Emma Swan?”

“No, no this subject is not Emma Swan, the subject is Anonymous,” Emma huffed, she wasn’t technically lying. “I gotta go Ruby, I’ll talk to you later.” Emma didn’t wait for her friend to respond, she simply hung up and let the phone drop to the bed.

Of the followers on her blog she had ruled out about 80 of them on the basis of them being female. Mystery Anon was a self-described male and unless he was taking this anonymity thing extremely too far she doubted he was posing as another gender just to throw her off the trail. If he was willing to go to that level to keep her from finding out just whom he was, she wasn’t interested anyway.

That left around 25 followers who were either unknown or had specifically mentioned being male.

That was still a pretty large group but Emma had pages and pages of notes to rule them out, one at a time, until she was left with only 10 pretty probable user names. And then she set to work.

Looking back Emma might be ashamed of the number of hours she spent on her laptop searching those Usernames, trying to find other matching social network accounts, looking through posts for Twitter IDs or Facebook links, or checking pictures for identifying details. But she didn’t give up easily, and that was why she in this line of work in the first place, she enjoyed the process.

One by one they fell away. One user lived in India, another had posted on OKCupid they had never left Nebraska and were looking for a nice local girl, another had tweeted some particularly racist things recently so she crossed them off on principle, Mystery Anon didn’t seem like a racist.

She had stopped replying to his messages. She wasn’t sure what to say, and it felt false or unreal somehow to continue to post to him while she was trying to find him. It was somewhat gratifying that he noticed the change almost immediately.

**“Everything alright over there Swan? I am feeling a bit bereft of your company as of late and I noticed a distinct lack of ridiculously fluffy mischievous cat posts interspersed with high level social and political commentary. Hope I haven’t done anything to offend. If I have, please know you have my deepest and sincerest apologies, I only hope I can regain your favour in the future-With Affection, Your Mystery Anon”**

**“Really and truly concerned now Swan, you haven’t posted anything in several days. I hope you are safe and well if nothing else. Also happy, but then I always hope for your happiness. – Your Growing Increasingly Concerned Mystery Anon”**

Emma sighed and changed tabs, entering the next username on her list into the search bar.

**AJollyRogering** , cute, if not a bit crude depending on the intended context. There wasn’t much to find, his Tumblr came up of course, mostly what you would expect from that user name, a few pirate related posts, some other historical items, very little in the way of personal details, and all with very generic tags. A Google search revealed a few old blogs of the same name on various platforms but none seemed to match, or were so old they had since been removed.

But then a few pages down Emma hit cyber pay dirt. A Facebook profile for [AJollyRogering@mailspace.com](mailto:AJollyRogering@mailspace.com), registered to one Killian Jones who was listed as _Lives In Boston, Massachusetts_. No picture of his face, just a photograph of what looked to be a very nice sailboat, given her limited experience, on a bright cloudless day, docked in a harbor or marina of some sort.

“Public profile Jones? Really?”  Emma rolled her eyes at the irony and clicked into the page.

Despite the publicness of his profile Killian Jones posted very little personal information. The profile actually seemed to serve as a cross between a personal page and a business page, a few posts advertising boat tours during the season given by Captain Killian Jones, a few news and weather articles shared, and a few more pictures of the same ship that served as the profile picture. There were a few photos of groups of people but she had a feeling he didn’t appear in any of them, they seemed to be happy clients on vacation, not friends of the boat’s owner.

He had no relatives tagged, no relationship status given, nothing of particular interest except a post detailing the tour schedule, the harbor info, and the contact information. 

“Captain huh?” Emma raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Captain Jones.” She said out loud to her empty apartment, in what was a vague approximation of a deep, haughty, English accent. “Captain Killian Jones at your service milady.” Emma bowed at her laptop screen and snorted to herself and went back to the task at hand.

Unfortunately, the tour schedule and phone number didn’t really tell her if this Killian Jones was _the_ guy but it seemed likely. All the pieces fit, his nautical references, the area, and the very few non-ship related posts on the page seemed to be a bit on the “flowery and overly descriptive” side of things. And it just _felt_ like it could be him.

But Emma had never been on a sailboat, much less this one, and while she had driven past the Boston Harbor Shipyard and Marina on several occasions she had never lingered there, never chased a skip there or inquired about a skip there, and she had no clue from this profile how in the world Captain Killian Jones would have any idea who she was.

Emma began to sift through his feed trying to see if she could gather any additional information. She would decide what to do with that information _after_ she had it.

Several scrolls through his page later she finally found something that seemed promising. A Belle French who had posted “Killian, can you call me at the checkout desk phone when you have a chance? We might be shorthanded this weekend and I didn’t know if you were available to volunteer for a few hours? I lost my phone so I thought I’d try to you here. Thanks!”

Emma went to Belle French’s profile, also public, and rolled her eyes. “Seriously people, personal information is valuable.” She muttered and clicked in.

Belle French also lived in the Boston area and actually worked at the East Boston Public Library based on her profile information. She was a stunning woman, with curly auburn hair and bright happy eyes. Emma’s eyes briefly flickered down to the relationship status section and she was, for some reason, relieved to read “In a Relationship with Will Scarlett”, she let out a breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding.

So based on this Captain Killian Jones occasionally helped out Librarian Belle French at the East Boston Public Library, assuming that is what she meant by “checkout desk” in the post, which was probably the case.

The same East Boston Public library that Emma went to with great regularity, finding it easier to stop in to the use the computers there for impromptu research rather than run all the way home, with the added bonus that she could snag a few books at the same time to keep her occupied in her off hours.

Books she selected, usually, based on recommendations from a Mystery Anon who was apparently ship Captain and volunteer fucking librarian Killian Jones.

“Sonovabitch,” Emma swore. 

Emma had rarely even seen a male librarian at that particular branch, volunteer or otherwise in her visits but then again she rarely needed any help, going often enough to know her way around, and other than checking the exits and skimming for skips she paid little attention. It was a big library, very busy during the day, and it was very likely she had just assumed he was a patron.

In fact the only male library employees Emma had even seen in the last few months were an ancient man who looked as though the next book he shelved could be his last, and a spotty teenager who was probably there for community service reasons and not a love of literature. She had actually only noticed those two because of the very real possibility of the older man’s impending demise, and that the junior one had skimmed her ass during re-shelving, neither seemed like they were the owners of a very large and probably expensive boat that was used for summer harbor tours and fishing trips.

And looking at her profile Emma did recognize Belle French, having seen her at the desk and around the facility on several occasions.

Emma chewed on her bottom lip for a minute. Surely if anyone could help her locate this Jones guy this was the person. And she was easily found and accessible. Emma looked at the clock, it was only 4 in the afternoon, Belle French was probably at the library right now.

Emma sighed and clicked back to her blog. Did she even want to pursue this further? It was almost certainly this Captain Jones character behind the mysterious messages, and based on the information on his Facebook he lived in the area. It would be almost too easy to walk down to the library right now, find out where she could find him, and reveal that she knew his identity.

But did she want to do that? Did he want her to do that? Signs pointed to no at the moment.  But what had the point of all the anonymous messages been if not a slightly odd, but kind of sweet way to make contact with her? And it wasn’t as if Emma had overtly indicated she wanted him to reveal himself. A few _“That’s more than I’ll share with some grayface on the_ _internet_ ’s” was hardly a “Hey, tell me what your actual username is, I want to take this further”.

He had never openly asked her for any personally revealing details. He had never demanded anything sexual from her which was more than she could say for most other online encounters she’d had, and other than a few flirty messages here and there he hadn’t made her uncomfortable in any way. Except for now, this uncertainty and confusion was definitely feeling uncomfortable.  

Emma did not know exactly how to handle this but she grabbed her keys anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma would be lying if she said she didn’t overly scrutinize every single male person in the library upon entering.  She was almost ashamed at the number of “Please don’t let that be him’s” and “Oh, he would do quite nicely’s” that flew through her brain as she took each one in, but none seemed to necessarily shout “Ship Captain cum Volunteer Library Employee” nor did they give off a “I prefer the anonymity of the internet for social situations!” vibe. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for, what piece of evidence she believed would indicate that this was her mystery anon boat captain. Slightly tanner skin? Calloused hands? An eyepatch? Boat shoes? Emma found herself looking overly long at feet on her way to the checkout desk and rolled her eyes internally.

“Get a grip.” She muttered.

Emma was pleased to see that the woman she was looking for was stationed at the checkout desk, sorting through and scanning a stack of books and placing them on a cart behind her. Emma took a deep breath and approached.

“Hello!” Belle greeted her brightly. “What can I help you with?” She set the book she had been holding aside and looked at Emma earnestly, happy to help.

“Huh well,” Emma shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Where did she even begin. After a few moments she decided to treat this just like she would a skip, firm, direct, in charge. “I’m looking for someone.  A man, Killian Jones? Do you know him or have you seen him recently?”

Belle blinked and furrowed her brow in concern, her eyes flickered briefly to the shelves to the right of them. Was he here? Emma kept her face neutral.

“Yes, I ah, I know him, he’s a friend of mine, may I ask what you need him for?” Belle narrowed her eyes a bit, raking Emma’s form, looking for what Emma didn’t know.

“Oh it’s nothing bad,” Emma gave the woman a bright smile, the one she reserved for particularly cagey individuals in her line of work, “I just need to speak with him about something.”

“Are you law enforcement?” Belle asked, and again her eyes flickered to the shelves. “If so, I can’t believe he would have done anything wrong. Killian’s a good man.”

“Not as such, no,” Emma shook her head. “This isn’t a legal matter.” Emma was definitely comforted by that comment. Belle looked hard at her again.

“Is this um, personal, in nature?” She asked after several moments and a swallow. She seemed to be trying to find a way to phrase it. Emma raised an eyebrow wondering what the woman was implying.

“A bit,” she said. “Look, I just want to talk to him for two seconds and then I’ll be on my way and out of your hair.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle said. “I can’t just give out his personal information, maybe you can find a different way to contact him?” Even though she was shutting Emma down the woman still smiled brightly and hopefully at her. Emma couldn’t even be a little upset, she totally understood where this woman was coming from.

Emma sighed, frustrated, thanked her, and walked away from the desk, heading towards the stacks to the left of the desk, trying to think of what to do. She didn’t blame Belle in the least. If some person with probably half crazed eyes came into the diner asking for information on Ruby she wouldn’t give them anything either, and she would be a helluva lot more hostile.

Emma stepped into the fiction section, suddenly struck with inspiration. She went down the aisles until she found the section she was looking for, hoping they had a copy in stock. They did thankfully, and she grabbed it, taking it up to the circulation desk. Belle looked at her, eyebrow raised, but she was still open and friendly which Emma took as a promising sign.

“Look, I know this is a bit weird, but can I ask you a favor?” Emma put the book on the desk.

“Um, sure? How can I help you?” Belle asked eyeing it curiously.   


“Can you give him this book? He’ll know what it means, or at least I _think_ he will, so can you give it to him the next time you see him?” Emma waved her hand in the direction of the shelves. “There are two more copies so I’m not like, depriving anyone of it.” Belle smiled at that and took the book.

“Okay, I can do that. Are you sure you don’t want to leave a note or you name or something?”  Emma hesitated. That would certainly be the more normal course of action.

“No, just the book.” She smiled at her. “Thanks for your help.”

 

Emma felt good about her decision. This let him know, in a non-aggressive way, that she knew who he was, that she knew he knew who _she_ was, and now the ball was in his court, should he choose to run with it.

Emma ducked into an alcove and took a seat in a hard plastic chair against the wall, by the entry way. The position gave her a good view of the circulation desk without the circulation desk having a good view of her. This tactic also allowed her to get a sneak peek of him should he happen to already be in the building. Which she assumed, based on Belle’s reaction, he was. 

Emma settled in to wait, her curiosity determining she was going to give it a few minutes to see if he was here before leaving and just waiting for him to reach out. She wasn’t a shallow woman by any means but it would at least be nice to know if he was of a similar age. She was also extremely curious as to what his reaction would be.

Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long, after just a few moments she saw Belle lift her eyes up to someone emerging from the shelves she had glanced at earlier, shelves currently obscured from Emma’s view.

“Killian,” Belle called out in a stage whisper, waving him over.

Emma tensed in anticipation, actually sliding forward to the literal edge of her seat trying to see around the column at the entry way. 

Belle was speaking to someone but had lowered her voice to the point Emma could no longer hear, the book in her hand.

And then he came into view, reaching out to take it.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Emma whispered, almost falling off her chair.

Killian Jones certainly was of a similar age. And he was certainly _not_ the ancient old man or spotty teenager Emma had encountered on previous visits. No, she definitely would have remembered seeing Killian Jones working in this library.

He was ridiculously good looking. Slightly taller than her, leanly muscled, and “dashing” was definitely an adjective she would use to describe him if she was a bodice ripping romance author. He was obviously a man who knew exactly what he was about.

Emma swallowed.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself again. She hadn’t really counted on him being attractive, and certainly not _that_ attractive.

She had hoped he would be at least okay to look at, and had perhaps entertained the fantasy he would be slightly similar to the man she saw at the desk now, but years of internet horror stories and MTV Catfish marathons had taught her that the likelihood of that happening was pretty small. She had not prepared herself for the possibility she would want to yank him back into the stacks and have her wicked way with him.

Killian was looking down at the book’s cover and she could tell from his body language he immediately recognized the significance. Her heart soared a little. She saw him look around, waving the book around excitedly. Belle shook her head at something he said, and she could physically see the disappointment in his sagging shoulders. He asked Belle something else and the woman shrugged, shaking her head, gesturing to the book.

She saw him cross in front the desk, going to the other side the library, probably to the computer room, and Emma stood up, immediately heading for the exit.

~~~~~~~~~

**“I have to hand it to you lass, you are bloody brilliant. I don’t know exactly how you managed to suss out who I was and where to find me, but the fact that you did is nothing short of amazing. I am both impressed and incredibly disappointed that I didn’t get to see you in person, but I understand why you decided to handle it as you did, and I’m hoping that by messaging you directly this is the sign you needed?-No Longer Mysterious Anon ”**

Emma found a message from **AJollyRogering** waiting in her inbox the second she got home. It seemed that Killian had wasted no time in messaging her using his actual username once he got the book, and Emma felt something knot in her throat at the possibility that he _was_ actually interested in an increased level of correspondence.

She spent a few minutes chewing on her lip staring at the message unsure of how to respond. He had taken the ball and passed it right back to her without any hesitation, and that was a very interesting feeling. There was another message immediately after the first.

**“Also, I’ll have you know that I’m actually the last person to have checked this book out based entirely on your recommendation, and I enjoyed it immensely. I’m pretty sure I neglected to send you a follow up to that though. I found the flowery descriptions and verbosity to be exactly to my taste, as you thought they would be. I only hope I can look forward to similar recommendations in future perhaps?”**

Emma smiled and bit her lip again, bringing the laptop closer.

**_“Full disclosure? I didn’t read that book. It was entirely too slow and wordy, I’m more an action packed thriller kinda girl I guess? Don’t let it deter you from sending me ridiculously verbose messages full of flowery prose and needless descriptions however. As for “sussing” out who you were that was elementary my dear Captain. I am incredibly interested to learn how you found me in the first place though?”_ **

Emma hit send with an exciting jolt of anticipation and the feeling that she was also being utterly ridiculous, but in a very thrilling way. He responded pretty much immediately and Emma’s heart began to pound in her chest. She tried to calm herself down, this was completely irrational. It wasn’t like he was in the same room as her for God’s sake.

**“Ah, that is a far less interesting tale and a rather simple one. I’d love to say I was so overcome at the sight of your loveliness I couldn’t rest until I had learned your Tumblr username and that I battled many fierce opponents to obtain it. As it is, you left your blog open on one of the library computers and I came over to log you out. Gentleman, you know. “**

Emma found herself grinning like an idiot but also found herself unable to stop grinning like an idiot. She was supremely grateful she lived alone and that she had covered her laptop’s camera with a post-it so no one could actually see the stupid expression on her face.  His explanation was both incredibly reassuring and more than a bit romantic, and she wasn’t sure how, but she could tell it was entirely the truth. He wasn’t some weirdo internet stalker who was planning on killing her with a wayward Craigslist’s transaction, just a guy who saw a pretty girl at the library and took the opportunity to reach out to her using the means he was given. Emma felt her heart stutter at the same time she felt her anxiety rise.

**_“Well now I’m disappointed my loveliness was unable to move you to acts of epic heroism but I can get behind that explanation. I guess my question now is why keep it up? Why not just let me know who you were after we started talking?”_ **

Emma waited for a response, going through every possible terrible scenario in her head.

“Well I’m married and I didn’t think my wife would be cool with this but you’re down I’d love to meet up.” Or “I’m actually incredibly gay and I just thought you were a really funny girl with excellent taste in memes.” Or “You seemed incredibly sad and lonely and I was really afraid you were going to take a leap off the Bunker Hill bridge if I didn’t reach out and befriend you.”

Instead what she got was:

**“Never ever doubt your loveliness Swan for you are absolutely exquisite, and I assure you that you inspire me to perform countless acts of epic heroism on just the mere possibility that you would desire it and thus see me in a favourable light. The truth is though that you didn’t seem like you would be receptive to any such advances and I thought that this would be a way for you to get to know me first, learn to trust me I suppose? I know that seems a bit counterintuitive.”**

Emma swallowed, her face flushing of its own accord. He was completely and utterly correct. She would _not_ have been receptive to some strange guy approaching her at the library. Or some strange guy messaging her saying “Hey I saw your blog at the library, I thought you were cute, lets meet up.” She was, apparently however, definitely receptive to some strange guy messaging her for months on end, completely anonymously, in an effort to get to get to know her first. She should probably be concerned about that, but as it was, she was just ridiculously flattered and a tad giddy.

**_“No, I understand. You’re right, I probably would have shut you down if you had handled this another way. It’s a bit weird, but I’m actually, I dunno, flattered that you even bothered to take the time? I’m just not sure why you did? Or what you hope to accomplish? I have to admit I don’t entirely trust your motives with this buddy but convince me.”_ **

It seemed like an eternity waiting for his reply. Was she too blunt? Too forward? Too hostile?

“Well that’s just too damn bad,” she said to herself trying to make herself feel a bit better about her message then she did. But there was nothing she could do now, it was out there.

**“I understand completely love, and can only hope to earn your trust at some point in the future. As it stands I do think that this particular conversation would be better in person. Perhaps over dinner, if you are amenable to that? Cross my heart I shall be on my best behaviour and will answer any questions you have about myself or my intentions.”**

Emma thought back to the tall, dark, and inexplicably sexy man she had glimpsed at the library.

**_“Well maybe I don’t want you on your *best* behavior.”_ **

**_~~~~~~~~~~~_ **

Emma was pretty sure she had gone insane at some point with this whole” Mystery Anon” business and that this was the absolute zenith of her mental breakdown. Which was how she found herself standing on a wooden dock in a dress that that was much shorter than usual, heels that were much higher than usual, and eyebrows that were a bit more kempt than usual, waiting for a man she had never actually met, to have dinner on a boat she wasn’t entirely sure wouldn’t be later transporting her recently murdered person out to sea. She had obviously driven herself absolutely insane.

“Ah Swan, at last,” Emma turned at the sound of what was definitely not her poor impersonation of a super haughty and pretentious English ship captain, but was instead the gravelly voice of a ridiculously sexy and seductive English ship captain. She felt that tug again in her belly button, shooting straight down between her legs and swallowed turning to him.

“Shit,” she murmured under her breath. He looked even better than he had at the library if that was possible. Whereas there he had been dressed in casual jeans, and flannel over a t-shirt, he had obviously dressed for success tonight, and boy was he succeeding. Emma absentmindedly wondered how long it would take to undo 11 vest buttons as her eyes swept his figure, finally flicking up to his eyes. _Shit._

This time she thankfully didn’t say it out loud, as he was much closer now and would surely hear her. But her glimpse of him at the library had not prepared her for the incredible blue of his eyes or his very intense expression. She felt a little off balance.

To be fair he also seemed a bit out of sorts, his step faltered a tad as his eyes did a sweep of her body, his tongue darted out to the side of his mouth of its own accord. She saw the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“You look…” he shook his head. “Stunning.” He finished finally. “I never dreamt…” he shook his head again and cleared his throat. “Shall we?” He swept his arm towards the same ship she recognized from the photograph on his Facebook.

Emma murmured something to the affirmative and turned, his hand hot on her back through the thin material of her dress as he propelled her towards the ship. She felt the hand stroke down with just the barest touch as they walked and she suppressed a shudder. _Jesus Christ,_ how was she going to handle an entire meal with this man?

The ship was beautiful and immaculate, the exact kind of boat she pictured fancy rich tourists using for a day trip around the harbor. On the middle of the deck was a slightly shoddy fold out card table covered in a simple linen table cloth, candles, and what appeared to be two tinfoil takeout containers.

“I ah, remember you mentioning an affinity for tortellini di zucca and there is a very good Italian place in my neighborhood so I-,” he gestured to the plate. “-took the liberty of ordering us take out.”

Emma smiled, ducking her head a bit. She had only mentioned that in passing on a tag in a post she’d reblogged titled _“This Ain’t the Olive Garden”,_ but the fact that he remembered had her heart beating just a bit faster in her chest.

He pulled out her chair, which increased its speed as well. He really wasn’t kidding about this gentleman shtick.

Emma was also pleased there wouldn’t be hours of uncomfortable silence punctuated with intermittent talking prior to the meal, they were getting right down to it. Eating also gave her something to do with her hands and mouth that wouldn’t give him the wrong impression.  

“So,” she started, arranging a paper napkin on her lap and breaking into the aluminum foil takeout dish. “I believe we’re here to discuss your intentions Captain Jones?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him, her intent only half serious, but the darkening of those ridiculous eyes and the rise of his own eyebrow in return had her swallowing and shifting in her seat. She was not sufficiently prepared for this.

He cleared his throat once more.

“I volunteer a lot, at the library, in the off season,“ he began, gesturing for her to go ahead and start eating. “I don’t have a lot to do then and they are often short staffed and Belle’s an old friend.” He smiled at that. “And I saw you come in a few times.”

Emma looked up sharply at that, she definitely would have remembered seeing him. As if reading her mind he rubbed his neck and shook his head “Just in passing, I’m usually in the back re-shelving not at the desk or on the floor so I doubt you would have noticed me.” She nodded, hearing the honestly in his voice, distracting herself from his sincere expression by taking a bite of her food, he wasn’t exaggerating, it _was_ a very good Italian place.

Emma watched him scratch behind his ear out of the corner of her eye for a moment before he continued.

“I’m not particularly good at meeting people,” he said catching her eye. “I suspect, you know what that’s like?” Emma nodded, swallowing. “And you just seemed so…determined whenever you came in,” he smiled fondly, but not necessarily at her, more at whatever he was remembering. “But also a bit like you wouldn’t welcome any advances.” He shrugged. “Or rather, a lot like you wouldn’t welcome any advances. And then you left your blog open on that computer and I’m not proud of it Emma, but I felt like it was a way to get to know you, for you to get to know me, so I just started messaging you.” Killian shifted in his seat uncomfortably for a second and looked down. “I admit that at first it was mostly just because you were lovely but-” he thought a moment. “-also fierce, and I did genuinely want to get to know you. And then I grew rather fond of you.”

He caught her eye and Emma shifted uncomfortably in her own seat at the intensity of his gaze. “It was never my intention to deceive you Emma. You must know that. There was no trickery involved, which is why I never told you who I was, I wanted you to ask me in your own time.” He smiled again, bright and brilliant, eyes crinkling at the corners, teeth white against the dark of his stubble. “Or, as it turns out, have you hunt me down in a public library leaving cryptic book based messages with the staff.”

Emma gave an unladylike snort, uncomfortable with his directness, and his rather impassioned speech. She cannot remember a time in her life when someone had spoken to her thusly and it was a hard thing to sit through and maintain her composure. At this point her face probably matched her dress and her fork was gripped with white knuckles.

“So you meant it then,” she said finally after a few ticks of uncomfortable silence. “Everything you said, all your messages. Asking me about my day, books I liked, you meant it?”

He nodded solemnly, holding her gaze. “Aye.”

“Okay then,” Emma spoke softly smiling down at her plate, spearing a particularly plump ravioli with her fork. “That’s all I was concerned about honestly.” Killian let out a breath, smiled at his food, and began eating himself.

Emma let out her own breath, her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and the tension gradually faded away. It had been more than a little awkward having someone practically soliloquizing while you were attempting to eat.

“So this is what you do then? You live and work on a boat?” Emma asked looking up to the top of the mast.

“I do actually have an apartment, it gets rather cold on the boat here in Boston,” he raised an eyebrow at her. “I just felt it would have been a bit forward to invite you there for our very first date.”

“Convenient though,” Emma murmured without thinking, the words seeming to fall right out of her mouth. Killian smirked but said nothing and Emma rolled her eyes at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pair walked back towards Emma’s apartment hand and hand. Killian had insisted he walk her home, had draped his jacket across her shoulders, and had taken her hand in his determined to take her despite her protests.

Killian had been, as promised, a perfect gentleman for the entire evening and Emma found herself more than a little disappointed he had mostly kept his hands to himself but at the same time she was oddly comforted.  

It was so far the best date Emma had ever had.

When they stopped in front of the stoop to her apartment building Killian reached out, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, his eyes locked with hers.

“I want to thank you for coming out with me,” Killian murmured. “I know it can’t have been easy to trust me, love, especially given our reason for meeting.” He shuffled a little more into her space. Emma swayed toward him a bit. She could feel his heat even through the several layers of fabric separating them, and her eyes scanned the deep V of chest exposed by his vest. She licked her lips.

“I’m really happy I did,” she admitted and then eyed him warily. “This isn’t the part where you reveal your secret plot to murder me and dump me in the river right?”

Killian chuckled, continuing that slow lazy shuffle and sway into her space.

“I promise you Emma, I have only the best of intentions when it comes to you,” he looked down at her, his eyes flickering to her lips. “I cannot guarantee I don’t have less than gentlemanly thoughts at the moment however.”  

“I believe you mentioned something about these ungentlemanly thoughts in one of your messages,” Emma whispered, leaning a bit closer to his warmth.

“Something about soft-” Killian ducked his head lower as his arm wrapped itself around her waist, “supple-“ Emma’s eyes slid closed as he leaned in, “-red-“ she stood up on her tiptoes, “-lips?” Emma finished, her breath a whisper of hot moist air across his mouth.

“Aye, very ungentlemanly thoughts they were indeed Swan,” Killian captured her lips with his own and then proceeded to show her just one of the many extraordinarily ungentlemanly things he’d had in mind.   

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on tumblr (ripplestitchskein), or send me mysterious admirer anon messages.


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